Page 148 of Jonesing for a Spy

My phone rings in the bedroom, but I ignore it.

“I hate it,” she whispers as if she’s displaying some weakness.

“I hate it for you. Are they frequent?”

She shrugs and stares down the hall as if she can see into the past. “Too frequent to not worry about them.” Her gaze finds mine. “But I haven’t had one when we’ve been in the same bed. I suspect that won’t always be the case.”

Same. Safety is great, but we both know that her mind will do what it wants. “And when that happens, how do you want me to wake you?”

“I don’t know, but can we keep the conversation open about it and play it by ear? My biggest fear is hurting you.”

“I know you have a hell of a right hook.” I smirk at her, trying to lighten the mood. “I’ve seen it.”

“Yeah. And my left isn’t bad either.”

“Wouldn’t have expected anything less, Freckles.”

She leans up and presses her lips to mine. “Want to go for a walk?”

“Do you?” My face must read panic, because she reaches up with a finger to press between my brows. “What’s wrong?”

“Your face pinched. And yes. I need to keep it moving. I’ll bitch the whole time, but it needs to be done.”

“And are you doing the stairs on your own?” I challenge, setting her on her feet and rising to my own.

Mirren throws her head back and grumbles. “Make you a deal?”

Hands planted firmly on my hips, I throw back her challenge. “Oh yeah, what’s that?”

“I’ll do five on the way up if you carry me down.”

“Counteroffer. You do three on the way down and three on the way up.”

She scrunches her face. If a whine had a face, it would be what I’m looking at right now.

“Fine, but you have to do all the work in the shower afterward.” Her face lightens, and she looks smug, like I just walked right into that trap.

But seriously? She caved, and I get to take care of her in the shower.

DJ Khaled rolls through my mind as I smother down a smile.

“I’ll be right back.” I turn and head down the hall.

“Where are you going?” she hollers at my retreating back.

“To get your shoes.” And to text mom really quickly… Oh, and hit the bathroom.

Fucking prednisone.

Mirren

I make it down three steps before being so sore and cranky I want to cry uncle and crawl back to my chair.

“One more,” the man in front of me says. He can’t see the face I make at the back of his head. This wasn’t our deal.

“We agreed—” I never get the word out. He spins to face me, backs down one step, and extends a hand.

“You’re stronger than that, Freckles. Both of us know that. Besides, I dare you.”